Daniel Sayani: June 2026

Shalom,

One of the most common conversations I have as a rabbi happens after services. Someone approaches me quietly, almost apologetically, and says some version of the same thing. "Everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing. I had no idea where we were."

I want to talk about that feeling directly, because it is far more common than people realize, and because the tradition has something meaningful to say about it.

Prayer Is Not a Performance

The first thing I tell anyone who feels lost in shul is this: knowing where you are in the siddur and praying are not the same thing. They overlap, but they are distinct. A person who follows every word perfectly without directing their heart has done something admirable. A person who holds the siddur open to the wrong page but feels genuine longing toward Hashem has also done something real. Both matter. Neither replaces the other.

The Hebrew word we use for prayer is tefilah, which comes from a root meaning to judge or to examine oneself. Jewish prayer, at its core, is not primarily about reciting words. It is about standing before Hashem honestly, with whatever you actually bring to that moment. The structure of the liturgy, the fixed texts of the Shacharis, Mincha, and Maariv services, exists to support that encounter, not to replace it.

Why We Pray From a Fixed Text

Many people find fixed liturgy puzzling. If prayer is personal, why not simply speak from the heart? The answer that the tradition offers is practical and profound at the same time. The fixed text ensures that every Jew, across every community and every century, shares a common vocabulary with Hashem and with each other. When I say Ashrei, I am saying the same words that Jews in Yemen, in Poland, in Morocco, and in ancient Babylon said. The prayer connects me not just upward but across time and space to the entire Jewish people.

The fixed text also protects us from ourselves in a specific way. On the days when we do not feel inspired, when the words do not come naturally, the siddur provides structure that carries us through. The Sages who composed the daily liturgy understood that human beings are inconsistent. They built a framework that functions on the days when inspiration is absent, and that becomes more transparent, more alive, on the days when it is present.

Starting Where You Are

If you are new to Jewish prayer, or returning after a long absence, I encourage you to resist the pressure to master everything at once. That pressure is real and understandable, but it is counterproductive. Start with what you can hold onto. The Shema. The Amidah, even if you say just the first blessing. The moments in the service when the congregation responds together with Amen or Amen Yehei Sh'mei Raba.

Participation does not require comprehension. Understanding deepens over time through learning and through the accumulated experience of repeated prayer. But you can begin participating, and receiving, long before you feel fluent. Every person standing in that room started somewhere. Many of them felt exactly what you feel now.

The Connection to Community Prayer

One of the things I have written about in the context of Kaddish and the requirement for a minyan is that Jewish prayer is fundamentally communal. The public sanctifications, the Torah reading, the communal responses — all of these require ten Jewish adults together. That requirement is not incidental. It reflects a deep belief that our prayers are not merely individual acts. They are communal ones.

When you show up for services, even if you feel lost, you are contributing to something larger than your individual experience. Your presence helps constitute the minyan. Your voice, even uncertain and quiet, is part of the collective voice of the community before Hashem. That matters. It matters in a way that no amount of private prayer, however sincere, fully replicates.

Making Shabbos Services More Accessible

For many people, Shabbos morning services are the first and most sustained encounter with Jewish communal prayer. I have written separately about building a meaningful Shabbos practice, and the prayer experience is central to that. If you would like guidance on how to follow along, what to expect during different parts of the service, or what specific prayers mean, please reach out. I am happy to sit with anyone before or after services to walk through the structure.

Learning to pray is a lifelong endeavor. The rabbis who spent decades in study and thousands of hours in prayer will tell you that they are still learning what it means to stand before Hashem with full attention. That is not a discouraging observation. It is a liberating one. There is no level of fluency at which you have finished. There is only the next prayer, the next moment of genuine turning toward something larger than yourself.

You do not need to have it all figured out to begin. You just need to show up. The community, the structure, and the tradition will do the rest.

With warm wishes and an open door,

Rabbi Daniel Sayani
Spiritual Leader, Clearview Jewish Center — Whitestone, Queens
Rov, Kehillas Mevaser Tov — East Brunswick, New Jersey

Shalom,

Of all the questions I receive as a rabbi, some of the most moving come from mourners who have just started saying Kaddish and want to understand what they are actually doing. They have heard the prayer their whole lives. They have stood for it at services, watched others recite it, perhaps said it for a parent or grandparent years ago. But now they are saying it themselves, and suddenly they want to know what it means.

It is one of my favorite questions to answer, because the answer surprises almost everyone.

What Kaddish Actually Says

Most people assume Kaddish is a prayer for the dead. It is not. The Kaddish prayer does not mention death, loss, or the departed at all. It is entirely a prayer of praise for Hashem. The most famous line, Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei raba, means "May His great name be exalted and sanctified." The prayer declares the greatness of G-d and expresses hope for the full revelation of His sovereignty in the world.

That is remarkable when you think about it. The prayer we associate most closely with grief is, in its words, a declaration of faith and praise.

The reason mourners say Kaddish is connected to this directly. By sanctifying G-d's name in the moment of greatest personal loss, the mourner demonstrates a faith that does not collapse under pain. It is an act of profound spiritual courage. The tradition teaches that when a child recites Kaddish for a parent, it elevates the soul of the departed. The living do something holy on behalf of someone they love. That is the meaning at the heart of the practice.

Why a Minyan Is Required

Kaddish cannot be recited alone. It requires a minyan, a quorum of ten Jewish adults, because Kaddish is a form of public sanctification. The Kedushas HaShem, the sanctification of G-d's name, is by its nature communal. You cannot do it in private, in the same way that certain expressions of holiness require witnesses and community.

This requirement has a practical implication that I think is actually one of the greatest gifts the halacha gives to mourners. To say Kaddish, you must be present in a minyan. You must show up. You must be surrounded by people. Grief pulls us inward and isolates us. Kaddish pulls mourners outward, into community, every single day of the mourning period. The tradition insists that the grieving not grieve alone.

I have seen this work in my own communities at Clearview Jewish Center in Whitestone, Queens, and at Kehillas Mevaser Tov in East Brunswick, New Jersey. Mourners who come to minyan every morning and evening during shiva and shloshim often tell me afterward that those daily appearances saved them. They were not ready to return to normal life, but they were ready to stand up for ten minutes and say Kaddish. That was enough to keep them connected to something larger than their pain.

The Kaddish Initiative at Clearview

Not every family has a son or daughter who is positioned to say Kaddish. Not every mourner can make it to services twice a day for eleven months. For those families, I coordinate the recitation of Kaddish by members of our community on their behalf. It is one of the most meaningful things we do as a congregation.

The family of the departed can rest knowing that the name of their loved one is being brought before Hashem daily, that someone is standing and sanctifying G-d's name in their honor. The community member who recites Kaddish on behalf of another fulfills a profound act of chesed shel emes, true kindness, the kind that cannot be repaid by the recipient. The tradition surrounding Kaddish is rich with this sense of mutual responsibility across the community of the living and the departed.

Kaddish and the Long View of Memory

The Ashkenazic custom is to recite Kaddish for eleven months after the loss of a parent, and on the yahrzeit, the anniversary of the passing, every year thereafter. That ongoing remembrance is not just sentiment. It is a structured practice of maintaining the connection between generations.

When a child stands and says Kaddish for a parent, they are not just expressing grief. They are transmitting something. The act of sanctifying G-d's name on behalf of someone you loved is itself a kind of teaching. It says: this person mattered. This person raised me in a tradition that calls us to praise Hashem even through loss. I am continuing that.

Jewish memory is, in this sense, an active practice rather than a passive sentiment. Kaddish transforms memory into action. It gives grief a form, a duration, and a communal context. It does not ask mourners to feel better. It asks them to show up and sanctify.

For Anyone Navigating Loss

If you are in a period of mourning, or approaching a yahrzeit, or simply want to understand this practice more deeply, I am always available to speak with you. Sometimes the most important thing a rabbi can do is sit with someone and help them understand what they are already doing. Kaddish is one of those practices that rewards understanding. The more you know about what you are saying and why, the more it holds you.

You can also read more about how I came to this work in my post on my journey to the rabbinate through conversion, and on building a meaningful Shabbos practice in daily life. Both speak to what I believe is the heart of Jewish observance: showing up, in community, with intention.

May the memory of those you have lost be a blessing. May the saying of their Kaddish bring comfort and meaning to all who loved them.

With warm wishes,

Rabbi Daniel Sayani
Spiritual Leader, Clearview Jewish Center – Whitestone, Queens
Rov, Kehillas Mevaser Tov – East Brunswick, New Jersey

Daniel Sayani

Thursday, June 11, 2026

Finding Your Place in Prayer: A Rabbi's Guide for Anyone Who Has Ever Felt Lost in Shul